Let Love In
by ArticulateZ
Summary: Sequel to Till The End of The World. Shilo and Graverobber have left the island to continue on their journey. But what awaits them in the new world? Stay tuned to find out.
1. Light Up That Dark Place

**Author's note: Hey, everyone! To understand this story, go back and read Till The End Of The World. This is a sequel. Rated M for the occasional adult activities and some cursing. Read, review, etc, and don't forget to make your genetics your bitch! (TESTIFY!)**

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Shilo woke up in the helicopter some time after leaving the island. How pleasant it was for both of them to have her waking up in Graverobber's arms after sweet and peaceful dreams. Her wig was crooked, obscuring her pretty face. He smoothed the wig and then cupped her cheek, stroking his thumb on her jawline. They'd left Sanitarium Island forever, for good, to go across the sea of bodies and water for something better. Graverobber had elected to abandon his independent but ultimately isolated life to be with her and, so far as he could tell, it was worth it. It had been worth it, waiting for someone like her to come into his life, give herself to him in every way that a girl could. He hoped that he could give as much back and show that he was worth it. They'd both sacrificed with what they'd been through. Her father, Mag, Dizzy; their influences and deaths had cut little scars on her heart, and still her whole happiness didn't rely on Graverobber. She loved him, and yet could stand on her own two feet. He loved her for that.

Once she'd fallen asleep, he'd fixed headphones over both their ears so they could talk over the din of the copter blades and comprehend the words. He didn't expect silence on the way to wherever they were going.

She cast quiet, dark eyes up at him from where her head rested on his shoulder. His arm loosened. "No, keep it there," she mumbled, drowsy. Neither of them moved. A yawn escaped and shortly thereafter infected him. "Was I out long?"

"We stopped to fuel up in the middle of our destination path and then went on our merry way." She nodded her comprehension and blinked, moved her hand to idly stroke his chest. "How'd you sleep?" he asked.

"I dreamed of a field and it was dark but I wasn't scared. There were wildflowers and trees. I've never seen anything like it except in books. Think they'll have them over there?" she wondered, snuggling closer to him. He wanted to extricate himself, not used to the intimacy. He loved her but he still wanted his own space.

"Could be. Don't get your hopes up, kid." Another yawn and he stretched out his arms, successfully gaining room. 'Sides, they weren't exactly alone. When they were alone, he'd do more than hold her. Graverobber relished the thought, the images. Not too long ago, he'd thought sleeping with her was a mistake. No one, save a saint or eunuch, could resist a begging young girl and he had no doubt that, given proper encouragement, she would beg.

"Oh, I won't. Even if it's nothing but cacti and tumbleweeds, I'll be pleased," she said. "Anything's better than what we left."

A world of the dead, a world where he had a steady living and she had real influence, but she was right. That old world would crumble or survive regardless of her actions, so why drag her down to its level? There wasn't a place for Shilo in that decay.

Shilo crawled across his lap to look out his window even though there was a perfectly good window on her side. "The sky looks like paint," she said. "Was it this clear at home?"

He took advantage of the situation by looking up her skirt and lightly spanking her. She snapped her gaze in his direction. "Hey!"

"Sorry, sorry," he said, grinning.

"You're a creep, you know that?" She smoothed her ruffled skirt and moved back to her seat, clearing the fog on the window to look out.

"So?"

"So stop it!" The minx smiled. "For now."

"Deal. Check your pockets."

With confusion displayed on her furrowed brow, she said "What?" He repeated himself and the baffled girl stuck her hands in her pocket. "What…?" Fingers wrapped the prize and withdrew it from the sweater. In her hands was a necklace he'd snuck there just after they'd left; a silver circlet with a blood red sapphire at the heart of it. She gasped. He took it from her and swept her unreal hair aside.

"I saw this on a dead woman—," he started.

"What? Graves, that's revolting!"

"And bought a replica. Took all that I had and then some." He placed it carefully around her throat and took the time to murmur in her ear, "You can thank me later."

Gone was her mother's cameo, representing her dark past. He wanted to take her mind far from that, as abandoned as her old home. She touched the necklace. "It's beautiful. Too gorgeous for me."

"Nah. It suits you."

She grinned and eagerly went into chatter on how she'd been able to take most of her belongings with her, and how she could meet a President, who apparently was important, and how there would be adventures just for the two of them. He contributed a little but mostly let her talk, and boy did she have a lot to say. To his credit, not once did he tune out. Eventually, he put a finger to her lips and asked if he could tell her something.

"What is it, Graves?"

"You're sure there'll be room for me in all this talk of change?"

"Why wouldn't there be? You left for me. I won't ever let you go."

Reassured, he put his feet up and waited for the ride to end. At last, they made it to a proper stop, a light in the dark place in the form of a white lighthouse sending out light in a half-circle across the waters and surrounded by a rocky shore. It was conveniently fitted with a small port big enough for the copter to coast into. The pilot navigated their craft inside, came to a smooth landing, and the blades slowed and shuddered and stopped. Through it all, Shilo tightly squeezed her knees, presumably terrified that they'd crash and burn. When it was over, Graverobber patted her shoulder.

"You alright?" he asked.

She nodded. "Yeah."

"We all good back there?" the pilot checked. Graverobber said they were, and Shilo mutely nodded. "Great. Get out. I'll follow y'all later; gotta check the equipment."

The door opened into a dim garage. Shilo stuck to Graverobber's side like chewing gum under a shoe. A lantern light shone through slats in a large mechanical door, operated by a panel in the wall. Graverobber hit the panel and warily watched the door open, pushing Shilo back behind him. "Who's there?"

A bent over old fellow was on the other side, holding a lantern with a gnarled arm. He scowled, his glassy eyes scrutinizing them both. "You the Wallaces?" he asked.

"I'm a Wallace," Shilo said, stepping out and offering her hand. He looked at it and then at Graverobber. "This is my friend."

"That so?" He sighed. "Well, there's room for two. You'll be spending the night here, and then someone will see to you. Don't ask who cause I haven't the faintest idea." Raising his lantern to see them better, he sniffed disapprovingly. "So this is Miss Wallace. Can't say I'm impressed. Ah well. Follow me." He turned and began his walk, taking them down what seemed to be endless winding stairs. They finally stopped, Shilo out of breath, at a small room fitted with cupboards and a table with five unsturdy chairs. "Get yerself something to eat. I'll come back when the arrangements are done."

He went away and left them in the dark. "Graverobber, I'm scared of the dark," Shilo hissed, stumbling on a chair.

"Wait." He searched in his pocket and struck a match, found a candle on the table and lit it, cupping his hand until the flame was steady. "What a piece of work, huh, kid?"

"He doesn't like us much." She sat on the table, not trusting the chairs. "What's in the cupboards?"

He checked. "Oh, sundries." He tossed her a baguette and a plastic container of red jelly. "There. Make yourself something nice."

Graverobber continued looking and found a bag of jerky. They were surprised at their hunger and split the food, sating their appetites. Shilo had to be told what jerky was. They found bottles of water and he could've sworn it tasted cleaner than the water back on the island. It made sense. That water had to be contaminated by industrial run-off and the ever present dead.

Shilo burped and looked appalled. "I'm sorry!"

He laughed and reached over to tap her on the head. "I'll forgive you this time." To one-up her, he chugged what was left of his water and sat back in his chair. The belch he let out was impressive.

Shilo cracked up and bent across the table to grab his ears and press her nose to his, wiggling. "You're adorable."

"Kid, you can't call a man adorable. It isn't done." And he stole a kiss, eventually hauling her onto his lap, knocking aside everything they'd had on the table. The floor creaked. The creepy old man was back, clearing his throat. Needless to say, they stopped in their tracks.

"If you're quite finished, your lodgings are prepared," the codger said.

"Oh. Oh, that's great," Shilo said, getting off the table, flashing quite a bit of leg in the process.

Further down the stairs he led them, no sign of the pilot behind them, and even with the lantern's light, it was awfully dark. They were taken to a wooden door.

"Bed's big enough for two," the man sniffed. "One night, understand?" And before either of them could speak, he left them there, by the door.

"What's with the stick up his ass?" Shilo grumbled.

"Think he has skeletons in his closet?"

"Oh, yeah. Tons. That's why he keeps us in the dark."

In the dark, he pushed her against the door and kissed her neck, tasted the silver that he'd put there. "Still scared, Shilo?"

Her pulse beat hard and fast. "A little."

"Good." He reached behind her and turned the knob, giving her room to steady herself so she wouldn't fall when it opened. A candelabra by the door, how thoughtful. He lit it. There was, indeed, a bed. Again, he turned on her, closing the door shut behind her and looming. "Now, where were we?"


	2. Mandates

**Author's note: This chapter is pure smut. Feel free to skip if it's not your cup of tea. Otherwise, I'd love your input! Thanks for reading. **

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The kisses came hard and fast, lightning bolts of adrenaline shooting through Shilo's veins, lancing down her spine. They'd been kissing not five minutes ago and still this seemed new, exciting, and dangerous. Was it the dark, she wondered, or how he had her backed up against the door, his hands caressing the back of her neck, grabbing at her shoulders, or how the full length of his body was pressed into hers, applying pressure in just the right places. She moaned into his mouth and attempted to place her arms around him, only partially succeeding. Graverobber turned her about, grinning at how she had to stand up on tiptoe to continue the kiss. "Eager, aren't we," he murmured.

"You have no idea," she said, resting on her heels and breathing heavily, trying to regain what he'd knocked out of her lungs. "Am I the only one?"

With a perverse leer, he said, "By no means," and took her hand, bringing it down, below his belt. She blushed and made no attempt to pull back. "You think that one time would be enough for me? I've an appetite for you…"

Shilo couldn't look him in the eye, her stomach full of butterflies and everything beneath filled with hot sparks. She could feel herself getting wet and wasn't sure whether to feel embarrassed. Then he was kissing her, and her hand was lightly massaging him through the fabric. He lost some focus on what he was doing, she could tell that much, and her murmur was soft and pleased. She withdrew her hand, her smile shy while inwardly she relished his disappointed expression.

"Come on, Graves, you think I'd do this standing up?" She pointed at the bed. "Oh, and you'll have to wait a minute. I have to use the lady's."

"Goddamn cocktease," he groaned, smacking her ass as she walked away. She jumped and squeaked, saying that wasn't going to get things going any faster. When she came back, he pushed her onto the bed, saying he had to tidy up his makeup.

She laughed. "Are you fucking serious?" She took advantage of the time by taking off her wig, tossing it on the ground, shortly followed by her clothes. Naked, she wriggled under the covers. Graverobber reappeared, paint reapplied. He was shocked at the sight that awaited him, and slowly walked toward the bed and started to unbuckle his belt.

"What did I do to deserve this?" he asked.

"You mean what did you do to deserve me," she corrected, sitting up and exposing her breasts when the blanket dropped.

"Yes. That. Sorry. Brain… not doing so hot," he said, and knelt on the bed. He rested his hand on the back of her head, fingers running through the short brown hair. "Soft, as is the rest of you."

"You don't need to compliment me; I'm already naked in a bed, waiting for you to do devious things to me," she pointed out, and reached up, dragging him properly onto the bed, on top of her. Granted, there was a sheet between them, but she could feel him all the same as they lay on the bed. While she explored his mouth, she caressed his back, running her hands low enough to push up under his shirt. "Oh, I love you," she said. "I love you, I love-," cut off by a sharp gasp when his hand delved under the blanket and moved between her legs.

"That so?" he breathed. "Oh, yeah, that's love I'm feeling?" In a quick motion, before she could reply or even register what he'd said, his caresses changed and he pushed two fingers inside her. She moaned, moreso as he demonstrated his capabilities in that respect, and she moved her hips in gentle circles, squeezing his hand between her thighs. He leaned forward to say in her ear, "Oh, I can't wait to fuck you."

Biting her lip to keep from making those high and staccato gasps constantly at the quick, insistent movements, she found herself begging, as if on instinct, "Oh, please, please!"

"Please, what?" he said, stilling inside her. It was agony.

"Please, please fuck me," she said breathlessly. "You—you have to."

"Yeah, suppose I do." And he withdrew his fingers, raising them to his dark lips and sucking hard, looking right into her eyes. The girl shivering beneath him pulled the sheet all the way down. He thanked her for the assistance, kissing her cheek before reaching for his zip. She took his hand and guided it down, eased his jeans off. Graverobber removed his boots, throwing them aside and reaching for her again. He held her close, letting her feel him on her leg.

"Graverobber… It isn't nice to tease me," she said.

"Wait's almost over, promise," he said, nuzzling her neck, then lightly nipping at the skin. He sat up and reached for his jeans, shoving his hand into one pocket, then the other, a frown alighting on his whitened face. "Fuck."

"What—what is it?" Shilo asked.

He turned to look at her, a disappointed scowl. "No protection."

"What? Come on, you've gotta be joking." She latched onto his arm, her body insisting to her brain that she needed him right that moment, damn it, condom or no. Shilo laid her head on his forearm and turned her head to look up at Graverobber's face with a pitiful, wanting moue. "Aren't you?"

"Wish I was, kid." He clicked his tongue on his teeth and paused as if in thought. He carefully detached her hand and pushed her on top of the covers. Shilo was astonished at his sudden dominance. She liked it. He crawled over her and smooched her mouth and descended, planting soft kisses on her milk white throat, her clavicle, her right breast and her nipple—and she protested softly when he refused to stay there—and lowering to her stomach. Shilo had a slight inkling of what was to come next, and she blushed, lying in wait as Graverobber snaked his body down, to place his chin low on her stomach and kiss next to her belly button. "There's other ways, kid."

Her voice shaking, she asked what he meant.

"Don't play the innocent virgin with me, Shilo." His smirk made her insides contort into complicated knots. How dare he toy with her and make her wait! Shilo rubbed her thighs together, desperate to ease the pressure without writhing. It took her by surprise when his hands wandered up to her knees and spread her legs wide. She gasped at the cold air.

"Oh—!"

Lifting one of her lanky legs to splay over his shoulder, Graverobber ducked his head down and kissed her, kissed somewhere she'd never thought anyone would. Her fingers clenched and she bit down on her lip to keep from crying out. His tongue traced her, flicked out in just the right places, and this was the most pleasure she'd ever felt. She whimpered, moving her flailing hands to his hair.

His little moans against her made her shudder, her grip pulling him a little closer. It was as if he'd done this before… and, given his history, it was likely he had, enough to have this skill. Once she'd grown used to the sensation, and adjusted her thoughts to accept that this was happening and they were both enjoying this, she tried to focus enough to control her actions and not shiver and quake and lie there. It was fun to tug at his hair, to force his head further between her thighs and her leg further over his shoulder, and she didn't hold back noises anymore. Her cries filled the room, and when she felt him gently suck at something she didn't even know was there, her hips automatically fluttered up.

Graverobber paused to grin at her. "Yeah, atta girl."

"I—," she tried, really tried, but he had other ideas, and all her senses but ecstasy were rendered obsolete by mandate of his wicked, wonderful tongue. She crooned, moving her hips like he'd encouraged her to, and he rewarded her efforts by lapping at her with each upward motion; her fingers and toes and spine were all writhing, her noises alternating between moans and choked gasps, and again he was sucking, and her breath was skyrocketing, harsher and shallower with each passing second.

It happened because of the two of them in conjunction, working together, by the thrusts and give and take of this new dimension of sex, and when it did happen, when the fuse of her orgasm was lit, her hands clenched in his long hair and her hips careened, and Shilo cried out. Graverobber patiently let her hold on and ride out her pleasure; she slackened, let go of him, and let her legs straighten. With a contented sigh, Graverobber grasped and kissed her thigh. Her hand lazily rested on his hair, smoothing it. His mouth was wet on her skin, and she blushed, pondering where that mouth had just been. The gradually fading pulsing in her body made her sigh, and the lazy comfort following climax settled in. Graverobber rested beside her, stroking a breast, idling her nipple between two fingers.

"How was that? Been a while," he said. All she could do was shakily sigh. "Was it that good?"

Catching her breath, she said, "Yes."

Shortly after deciding that she should return the favor and ease poor Graverobber's discomfort, it occurred to them to check his coat pockets for rubbers. They found several in a stolen wallet, and they both laughed, Shilo in relief. She wanted to please him but was a little worried that he'd end up choking her. He didn't have to ask permission; she wrapped and pulled him in herself, using her muscles to shatter his focus like his tongue had done to her. She rubbed at his back, sighing softly with each hard thrust. It was so good to have him inside her, natural, easy. The thrusts grew closer together, and Shilo found herself gasping. She was pretty sure this couldn't happen twice, but her body was saying otherwise.

She didn't know what she was thinking. None of it made sense, and a year ago she'd have been appalled at the image of herself naked on her back with a much older man thrusting into her. Now it made perfect sense, and she wanted nights like this to play out again and again over time. Graverobber purred something unintelligible, the hum reverberating through Shilo's body. He kissed her neck hard and slid his hand down to rub at her between thrusts until she was whining and moving right along with him, desperate to reach a second high. It struck like a firework, making her shake and shudder and wail. Graverobber's breath was hot on her neck as she felt the pleasure ebb, and she had a few moments to lie there and feel him without thought before he seized up and ground harder than ever. Relaxed, he pulled out and all but collapsed on her, resting his full weight on her breast. Shilo touched a bead of sweat on his brow and thought about all the places on her body where he might have left traces of make-up. He hadn't fucked her like this the time before or attended to her so thoroughly. All things considered, she was lucky. She loved someone who showed part of his love by touching her in all the right ways.

They fell asleep much like that, after tending to certain private things. Shilo replaced her wig before getting back in bed and into Graverobber's arms. She whispered that she loved him. He hadn't said it back just yet. In the morning, he wanted to continue the previous night's affairs. Laughing her half-hearted protests, Shilo batted at him sliding his hand under her nightgown, grinning at her.

"Graverobber, no!"

"Oh, come on, it won't take long…"

It wasn't until he'd reached her underwear that the door was rudely thrown open.


	3. Leaving the Light

**Author's Note: Welcome back to the story, those of you who skipped the previous chapter! Whether you did or did not, thanks for sticking around. Be sure to review and etc. It makes my day that much better and ensures that subsequent chapters are uploaded in a timely manner. Thank you for reading! Oh yes, and beta by TheDandyCrickette- that goes for all previous and future chapters.  
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Shilo gasped and yanked the sheets up to cover herself and where Graverobber's wandering hand had frozen. The whiplash of teasing fun to embarrassment was dizzying, and her eyes gradually took in exactly who had barged in. It wasn't the old man, stooped and disapproving, his arthritic hand clutching at the door, and it wasn't the friendly pilot with the mild accent. Instead, she saw a man in a gabardine suit and shiny red bowler. He was middle-aged, dignified, and appalled. He took a step back, one gloved hand going to his eyes.

"By all means, take a moment to compose yourselves," he entreated them and Shilo hastily batted away the hand between her thighs and got out of the bed, too flustered to take notice of what her bedmate was doing. She heard him rustling and assumed he was shuffling back into his pants. Shilo tucked her hands into her armpits, crossing her arms over her underdeveloped breasts. The fabric of her nightgown was unforgivably thin and Shilo had an old-fashioned, high degree of shyness.

"Haven't you heard of knocking?" Graverobber grumbled. Shilo could have hit him. A sideways glance showed that he was fully dressed, although his makeup was spotty in places, the lipstick obviously blurred from kissing, and his hair was disheveled. She felt like apologizing for sleeping with him even though they'd only been provided with one bed. Trembling under the stranger's eyes, she tried to shake the feeling and instead show her resolve and hellish attitude. Pretend he's your dad, she told herself.

"I thought the young lady would be dressed by now. It is almost noon." The man checked his watch, projecting the time for them to see.

Graverobber ambled behind Shilo and draped her sweater over her shoulders. "Give us a minute."

"No time. Dress on the way," the man said, beckoning them on. Shilo hastily grabbed her clothes in a bundle and followed. Behind her, Graverobber mumbled that it was all bullshit. "You're late enough as it is."

They had a moment's pause while closing the door and she took advantage of that moment to finish dressing, even if it was in front of a stranger and, therefore, embarrassing. "Late? To what?" Shilo asked, sliding into her skirt, Graverobber helping her snap and secure her bra before tugging the nightgown over her head. She wondered why the man came alone, and where the lighthouse keeper could be. They hadn't heard from the pilot. She worried her lip in her teeth.

"There is a boat and then an automobile waiting to take you the rest of the way to the mainland; the capitol, to be exact. We are on a schedule, after all. Or did you think this was a pleasure visit to be determined at your leisure? Come along, come along," he urged them and increased his pace. Shilo felt like Alice, chasing after the elusive white rabbit.

"Wait, wait!" she pleaded, hurrying. Even at this hour, the tower was dark and terrifying and at this speed she couldn't hold Graverobber's hand for comfort and balance. All she could do was descend and hope her feet didn't give way and send her toppling all the way down.

She stumbled and caught herself on the wall at about the same time as a cold hand snatched her collar. A gasp escaped her lips. "Easy there, kid." He straightened her out and planted a kiss to her throat, squeezed her shaking shoulders. She stooped to pick up the belongings that had spilled from her arms.

"I hate the dark," she said.

"If I'd known, I'd have kept one last vial of Z."

"You couldn't have known."

With that, they kept on, slower this time, down, down, down. He shouted down at the stranger, "Hey, who the fuck are you?"

The stairs, the sickening spiraling stairs, came to a halt on the next floor. "Name isn't important. I am a government representative, and it's my job to shepherd you from this abyss to the capitol, where the important people are," he said condescendingly. Shilo withdrew to the safety of Graverobber's chest as if slapped.

"No need to be an asshole," Graverobber said.

The man bit his lip and pondered. "No, you're right. I blame the decaf."

Just when she'd again started to wonder where he was, the caretaker approached, a set of keys on one crooked finger, a long, stuffed bag over his shoulder. She stared at it as the representative was given the keys. Curiously, she asked, "What's in there?"

"You want to know?" the old man wheezed.

She nodded. He dropped the bag onto the floor and unzipped the top; a decapitated head popped out, the bloody incision through the throat imprecise, as if sawed. Through her horrified shrieks, she realized it was the pilot. "Close it, close it!" she cried.

Graverobber grabbed the caretaker by the throat and lifted him up in the air. "The hell is wrong with you?" he snarled.

"Had the filth of the island on him," the geezer gasped. "Couldn't risk contami—contamination." His legs weakly kicked. Shilo shouted for Graverobber to put him _down_, right _now_. He sighed and resentfully did so.

"You didn't kill us," she pointed out, her voice quaking. "We could be contaminated, for all you know."

"We wouldn't kill an honored guest," said the representative, adding, "Or her… bodyguard." There was a distasteful tone to it, a spitting out of something foul. Graverobber scowled. Shilo meekly said that he was her friend.

Like hell I am, Graverobber thought to himself. He'd never had a friend who he actually made love to and then held all through the night. That was somewhat out of friendship territory. Was she ashamed of him? He tried to suppress the notion.

"He didn't need to die. He was a good person," she sniffled.

"It was an unnecessary measure," said the government man. "But, alas, too late to remedy. Shall we go?" He reached out and put a hand on Shilo's shoulder, turning her from the body. She let herself be steered. The keys were the way out. The old man zipped up the bag and continued to drag it. Shilo shuddered; Graverobber merely shrugged it off. So long as it wasn't him, cold-blooded murder was nothing to cry about. Death happened, for some sooner rather than later. "The road waits."

He fit the key into the door and pushed the way out. Outside, the waves crashed on the rocks, the smell of salt spray filled the air, and the sunshine fell down, blessings from the clear blue sky. He'd never seen anything like it. There was sand and grass mingled on the ground, both damp from the water. There awaited, on the far end from where they'd arrived, a small boat. Shilo anxiously asked what about her things, what about her luggage.

"It's been decontaminated and packed on," the man said with a nod to the craft. Boats were something Graverobber had only seen occasionally, only in the form of useless canoe-like structures that lovers and families used around the island, and blocked by the mountains of bodies. Other than that, he'd spied glimpses on television and in old books, and he wasn't much of a reader or watcher. Not unless it involved watching young girls in short skirts.

A heavyset woman who didn't speak operated the boat while Graverobber paced the deck. Shilo bent over the railing, seasick and absolutely miserable. Nauseated in spite of the pleasant weather. It wasn't much of a trip; they reached the dock in just over an hour, and in the meantime he tried to distract her by pointing out the fish and the strange, glistening creatures that poked their heads up to watch them pass.

"What're they called?" she wondered.

Walking by, the government man said, "Sea lions."

Graverobber didn't know what to make of that, nor did his dark-eyed young companion.

He made sure she didn't fall when alighting from the boat and, in truth, he also stumbled, fumbling the transition to a solid surface. Secured, they went on, and at once four men in white coats and paper masks covering their noses and mouths came up with what looked like scanners. "Don't move," the representative advised them. "Or this may sting."

Shilo froze at once, and Graverobber came to a stop, holding his hands up to the level of his ears. They were circled, scanners passed over them—except they clearly weren't scanners. Something hot and electric crackled along his skin. His extremities felt numb. What the fuck? Shilo turned her head to watch the men at work.

"Just making sure you aren't infected," one said, voice muffled.

"We're clean, alright?" Graverobber said.

"So you are," he concluded, and the four of them put away their strange devices. Graverobber experimentally moved his foot. They'd singed him or something; he could smell burnt hair and lightning.

He tried to take Shilo's hand, but she was ahead of him, walking with the strange, suited man to the parking lot, where a limousine was parked. He said that he'd called ahead. There wasn't much to look at so far, just an empty parking lot and a sort of toll booth where the men in white coats waited for new arrivals. Those couldn't come often. Graverobber figured they'd been dragged out just for this occasion.

"After you," said the representative to Shilo. He let himself in and nearly closed the door on Graverobber. She didn't seem to notice. A window was knocked on; the drive began, smooth and steady.

Gradually, the hinterlands, the long road with nothing but green desert and telephone lines and the occasional house tucked into a cradle of mountains, faded into tunnels. Those were pitch black, and Graverobber heard Shilo's breath stop, heard her long exhalation when they passed into the light before heading into the next one.

And then the lights began. It was about five in the afternoon, and the sun was setting on the horizon, and they passed from nothingness into everything, a city that reminded him of home but different. Clean, dazzling, all manner of lights. Uneasily, he noted that the streets had been empty, cordoned off for everyone but them, and there were cameras on the buildings, turning to focus on them. He noticed, too, a camera mounted on the interior of the limousine. Shilo, who'd not talked to him hardly at all on the sojourn, had her eyes peeled to the outside world, at the glittering skyscrapers and the clean streets. He doubted the city entire was this beautiful. It had been set up to impress her.

"Oh, Graverobber, can you believe it?" she breathed.

"Yeah, I'm all aflutter." And, with that, he reached forward and poured himself a tall glass of champagne, and then another.


	4. New Landscapes

They'd been in the car for about six hours, culminating in a drive through an endless city. Graverobber was loathe to spend even another minute in the contraption when the tiresome journey came to an end. The door far from him opened; the representative stepped out first and tapped his foot on the gleaming silver pavement. The sun was gone, replaced by a million stars. A wide-eyed Shilo let herself be guided out with a touch of the glove on her shoulder. She did not shy from the light physical guidance, whereas it had taken Graverobber weeks for her to grow accustomed to the same treatment from him.

"Welcome to the capitol," the representative said with a wide flourish.

"Where are we going?" he asked, thinking he'd be ignored even as he stood with his whole impressive height from the vehicle.

"Shilo—it is Shilo, is it not?—needs to be cleaned up." Shilo confirmed with a nod that she was her name.

"She's not _dirty_," Graverobber laughed, as if he could possibly sully her. As if anything could sully her.

"Young ladies like shopping. I'm sure we'll hear no protests from the young lady, but why don't we ask her?" the man said patronizingly. They both turned to Shilo.

She looked from one face to the other, hesitant. "Can I get new boots? Mine are worn through." The representative said that they could, no problem. She grasped Graverobber's sleeve. He tried unsuccessfully for her hand, or at the very least her wrist. There was a brush of fingers before she blushed and shied away, curling her hand protectively away. Why was she doing this? Had he done something wrong? The girl had been loving and enthusiastic the night before, and the night before that.

The streets were impressive even up close, with moving sections on the sidewalk and newfangled cars zipping through the streets with hums instead of roars. The buildings were all glass and white and silver shine, geometric pieces stacked one on top of the other and joined by catwalks, escalators, fire escapes. He noted the sensors and cameras above that seemed to follow them and almost made note of them to Shilo. Not wanting to create panic or paranoia, or alert the representative that he was aware of the mechanized attention, he kept it to himself but kept a wary eye on them, not liking this in the slightest. Say what you will about the demented island, there was at least some degree of privacy. It was in walking distance, the shop where Shilo was to be "cleaned up." It was not like any shop that he'd ever stepped foot in or seen, not some hole-in-the-wall or boutique. They stepped into a great hall, fine clothes packed into the walls and displayed on mannequins, with stairs leading up to a second floor. There were red, porcelain hands creeping up from marble tables, and they displayed jewelry, hats, tattoos, held shoes aloft. Shilo stood stock still, taking it all in.

Graverobber couldn't help but be a tad impressed. Next to all this, he was well aware of his own appearance and felt proud of the raggedy distinction. His hair was uncombed, his face painted, his clothes filthy, and his swagger did not falter in the face of riches. Hell, he was better than the peacocks filtering by, thumbing at the wares with overly clean hands. Even Amber Sweet had been imperfect.

These people barely had pores.

The girl did not seem to know where to start. A short man in a silk shirt and pressed pants came up; the government man said a few words in an aside to him, and things happened very quickly. The representative went outside, sternly telling Graverobber to stay put, as he needed to be made presentable as well. Bah, what nonsense. Graverobber made a face at him soon as his back was turned.

A few salesmen and women came to Shilo's side and whisked her toward a changing booth and sent a dress sailing over the top, no doubt hitting her in the head. They retreated to make preparations for the rest of the somewhat unwilling makeover. She protested the dress and went quiet, replacing her ignored words with the rustling of fabric. "Graverobber!" she called, and he strolled over, pushing past the sales.

"Yeah?"

"They knew my size," she mumbled. "Get in here."

She unlocked the door and tugged him in. He gave a sideways glance and gave in with little protest, grinning. Graverobber was sure to lock the door behind him, not caring to be interrupted with her yet again. "Hey, kid." The kid stood frowning in her white bra and underwear. "You look good. What's it been, five minutes?"

"Cute, very cute." Shilo backed up to the cubby-sized bench provided, built into the wall, not sitting. Her clothes hung on hooks, the provided dress crumbled on the floor. "How did they know my size? Isn't this all a little… strange?"

"Yes. I am relieved to hear that." He heaved a sigh, relieved that she, too, noticed that something was amiss. Distracted by her state of undress, he reached out and curled a hand on the side of her neck, moving to the back of her head and bending to lay a kiss on her lips. She pushed back. "What's the matter?"

"We can't. Not here," she whispered, eyes downcast. "I'm sorry. It's not decent, okay?"

"Oh, but I can't help it. Decency don't matter, not when you're like this…" He lifted her and pressed her against the wall. "Tell me no." And he very softly kissed her neck, taking her off guard. She'd been expecting something rougher, and still she blushed. "Wish we could be alone again."

"But we're _not_," she said pointedly, and he relented with a sigh.

"You have a point."

"As do you," she murmured, looking down.

"Alright, kid, that's enough. Let's get you dressed." The dress wasn't what he thought it would be. They'd not picked anything sexy or flashy. It was dark red, pooled at her feet, completed by a trailing fabric attached to the lower end of her back. The Mandarin collar was high, arching up her throat. She asked how she looked, turning slowly for him. He wondered how it was possible for her not to know the answer already. It was stupidly obvious, to him at least. "Beautiful," he breathed. Unlocking the door, he unceremoniously and without any warning shoved her out. "Go get pretty."

"I _am_ pretty!" she laughed before falling into the clutches of beauticians. "Hey, leave my wig alone!" And they did leave that much alone, at her repeated insistence. Brushes and blushes and eyelash curlers and foundation, Shilo was made up to look several years older and not nearly as wan.

Graverobber, in the meantime, was grabbed by a pushy salesman. "Hm, now what do we do about you? Oh, this simply will not do!" the fellow simpered.

"Hey, keep your hands off me," Graverobber snapped.

"Oh, Graves, just go with it. It's kind of fun," Shilo said, now having her nails done and clearly enjoying herself. He grumbled and gave in. But he would not be tamed. His makeup was left alone—the better to hide his imperfections, they said—but his hair was combed out and tied tightly back. He'd threatened to cut off the man's manhood if he took a scissors to his mane.

"No, oh no. No suit," he said.

Exasperated, the now freed up staff turned their eyes on his keeper for help. The polished and primped Shilo smiled and took the square package from the table and kicked open an empty dressing room door. "Come on in."

"Why should I?" he asked.

"It could be fun," she said, an undertone that only he could detect. He was drawn in after the well-dressed young girl. She pushed him back, shutting the door with the impact. The lock clicked automatically. "Take everything off." She helped him undress and uncover it all. With each article of clothing removed, Shilo rewarded him with kisses and caresses. She didn't tame him, he argued. This was for her benefit, and he'd get something out of it later for being so cooperative, of that he was sure. "See? You'll look nice."

"There's nothing wrong with how I look."

"It's a change, that's all. We're ourselves, still." She squeezed his hand and sat down to watch him shake his head ruefully and then dress. He had some trouble with the tie and required help from Shilo. In her new boots, with heels high enough to keep her from stumbling on her dress, she came right up to him, stood on tiptoe, and fastened the tie, pulling it snug. "Nothing's going to really change us."

"No, I know that. How is it you know how to do that and I don't?" he mused.

"Daddy," she answered simply.

The small party left the store to reunite with the limousine waiting at the curb. The car was flanked by two armored vehicles—security for the guest who'd traveled so far at the behest of one influential man. It would be a shame for something to happen to her to disrupt those plans. If Shilo was surprised by this, she did not show it; perhaps one of the beauticians had whispered word of it to her. Graverobber scarcely recognized his pale companion, injected with new life by cosmetics and a dress that made him loathe to put his hands on her for fear of creasing the fine silk. Gold strings wove through her dark, synthetic hair, and the bleary eyeliner was a crisp black line beneath gold lids. On the slender hand that touched his knee were rings, her original silver and additional coils of lavender, turquoise, plum, and they all connected to a simple silver bracelet. His eyes roamed over the details, trying hard to be unimpressed. Shilo was, of course, more beautiful without embellishments, without anything on her at all, including that wig. A briefing was in order, clearly more for Shilo's benefit than his own. The government man pulled out a leather folder and removed from it a series of files and index cards illustrated with photographs. Ignoring Graverobber altogether, he scooted closer to Shilo and introduced various important individuals by face and name: President, Vice President, people of Congress, noteworthy reporters.

"You'll be expected to act with grace," he said. "You will address people by their titles or as 'sir' or 'ma'am.' And, of course, it would be inappropriate for either of you to be inebriated at this event."

"And, um, just what is this event?" Shilo asked.

"A meeting," he said.

"A cotillion," Graverobber chimed in, earning a sharp glare. "A place where their new pet can be paraded."

"Oh, can't you ever shut up?" Shilo asked. "Everything's going to be fine. Don't be so surly." She held his arm and tucked her head to his chest, smiling. He petted her arm, assuaged his restless thoughts by the soft sensation on his palm.

He could shut up, and so kept quiet for the rest of the drive.

* * *

People circulated with drinks in hand, dispensed by a greeter in white at the door after passing through mechanical security. Like Shilo, they didn't look opera-level swanky, but classic and understatedly elegant. Those with surgical modifications weren't obvious. Not even Graverobber, with his experienced eyes, could pick them out of the many. All were beautiful. It could have been anyone, and perhaps it was everyone. Off the island, without risk of repossession, it was likely more folks opted for genetic perfection. Only a knife's cut away, step up ye bland mortals. The style here was unfamiliar, goggles and gears, hoopskirts and gold boots up to the knee. Even indoors, ladies carried parasols, and near every man carried a cane, and these were the diplomats, the political representatives of a society that was as foreign to him as childbirth.

"Look at them all," Shilo said, stepping forward, boots shuddering on the wood, threatening to scuff the surface. "Have you ever seen anything like it?"

He admired the pictures on the paneled walls, soft landscapes: hunters on horseback in pursuit of frightened foxes; women in bonnets lounging on green hills; sexless, ageless figures running along a beach that was sunny with clear and pale blue water. Each image offered life and light shed onto a clean slate. This world had a new beauty in it. His world had been beautiful, the colorful arrays of addicts and emperors, and here was a different brand of loveliness. Shilo examined a picture, her mouth open in a wondering sigh.

The government representative who'd disappeared at the door reemerged at their elbows. Shilo turned about, eyes wide, stance hesitant. He cleared his throat. "Miss Wallace, they're ready for you."

"Oh. Who—who is?" she asked, wringing her hands.

"The President. He's most anxious to meet you. But first, there are other very important people. I do hope you remember their names, for dignity's sake. Come along." He smiled and brushed a hand through the air to indicate her path, but not the destination. To Graverobber, he beamed and said "I see you're admiring the oil paintings! Classic, are they not? There are more to see in the vestibule!" The hand suddenly on Graverobber's forearm was surprisingly strong, taking him aback.

"No, I'd like to go with my _friend_," Graverobber said, hating the feel of the word in his mouth while knowing it would get him farther than, say, lover or fuckdoll. Alas, Shilo was walking, drawn forward, and as if on cue people were closing the gap, blocking his view of her and where she went to. "Hands off."

"You will want to see, I assure you," the bully said, guiding him along. Feeling more helpless than he had when strung toe-end up, and Shilo had to come and rescue him, he turned his head to look over his shoulder and search for her. The ballroom was disappearing, and he was in the hallway, and the door closed.

He broke free of the iron grip to rush at the doorman who'd moved to block the entrance. "Let me back in," he demanded.

"This man is in breach of security," the bully lied.

The doorman's face tightened and his body did not budge. Graverobber's heart sank as he cursed the very heavens for allowing this to happen. He wasn't able to help her. Shilo was on her own and it wasn't even his fault.

"Please, please," he begged. "She's all alone. She's a seventeen year old girl."

Impassive, the man shrugged and said some bullshit about protocols. "Step away from the door, sir, or it will not go well for you."

_Damn_ it. Graverobber turned on his heel and stormed off to sulk and –what else could he do?—examine the paintings that lined the hallway. Shilo was ever on his mind: where she was, who she was talking to, if someone would take advantage of her, if her evolving strength would hold up in the face of the new landscape.

* * *

She met with one person after another, the faces and names and titles all blurring together until she wasn't sure how many she'd met and declined to shake hands with. They'd accepted her shyness and seemed as bored as could be. Their enthusiasm was feigned. The transparent façade could have been seen through by any fool. There were representatives of the remaining states, of which there were very few, ambassadors who chatted by video with other parts of the world, including her homeland, a woman who stood out from the crowd as the Vice President, but even she did not seem too important. None of them cared, so Shilo extended the same courtesy to them.

The President had two aides on his right, security and reporters all around. After leaving the representative, a young, red-haired bodyguard had kindly escorted her to where the entourage was hanging around, seemingly so she had the time to be located and introduced. Her knees shook, breath hitching in her throat. She wished for a hand to hold and wondered where Graverobber had gotten to. The man had an irritating habit of disappearing on her. He'd picked the absolute worst time to do so, and the more time she had to think on it, the more it irritated her until she was furious at him. _Damn_ him.

He was an elderly man in an all-silver wheelchair, his paisley suit hanging loose on his sagging frame. The hair on his head was over his shoulder in a long white braid bound with a red ribbon. The man did not seem feeble, however, in spite of his age and weakened appearance. He exuded strength and power, from top to toe, mostly from his hawklike yellow eyes, no doubt changed in surgery. She knew this and still was cowed. There was a queer urge to drop to her knees and kiss a ring or bow low.

When she did not speak, too intimidated and affrighted to open her lips, he offered his hand and said "Miss Wallace, how good of you to come."

Aware that the reporters were recording this exchange, she attempted to stop the shaking in her arm when she shook his hand, her palm sweaty. "Sir."

"I am President of the States… what remains of them," he said.

"I know," she said.

"You are a brave woman. We were enthralled by your accomplishments, and at your age. Be proud, Shilo," he said gently, placing his other hand over hers to stop the violent trembling. She did not care for being recorded, and liked his touch less. She could not seem to break from his eyes. "What is it that your mother would say? Indulge an old man."

How dare he bring up her mother, she wanted to say and could not. It was out of her hands. Shilo was helpless. "Yield for nothing," she half-whispered.

"My dear, I am hard of hearing. A little louder," he said, hand behind his ear.

"Yield for nothing."

At that moment, she was budged hard enough to send her sprawling. She threw her hands down to break her fall and cried out upon impact. Her knee skinned through the light fabric of her scarlet dress. She hitched it up to observe the damage. Torn skin, a surface injury only, blood welling through. Her hands ached. At least there was no broken skin on her palms, just red marks that would fade. Tears welled in her eyes out of embarrassment as much as pain. This wouldn't have happened if Graverobber was here. He would have caught her.

"Oh my, I am so sorry!" a woman's voice said. Shilo sniffed free of her tears, let the fabric drop, and gingerly got to her feet. Before the watchful eyes of the President and the cameras she'd lost her step and fallen. "I didn't see you there."

Shilo covered her face with one hand until the cameras and recorders got the point and either turned aside or flickered off.

"Wonderful to meet you. I'll be watching you with great interest," the President said, an edge in his tone. He did not like having his all-important meeting interrupted, Shilo could tell. She didn't know why meeting her was important or why there had to be that many public witnesses, and frankly she didn't care. He turned the wheelchair about and resumed socializing with the other official-looking attendees, leaving Shilo grateful to be ignored. The formerly insulated girl had neither the skill nor interest in overmuch interaction with strangers. At a distance, sure, but in person she became awkward and trapped in her head. Paralyzed. The woman kept apologizing. Finally, Shilo cared to catch a look at the clutz.

She had wavy auburn hair set on top of an elegantly wide-jawed face, green eyes lidded by spidery lashes. Atop her head were goggles that matched her corset. Round calves and black pumps descended from a tight, charcoal grey pencil skirt. She fretted her hands together and was overly anxious about an accident, again saying she was sorry.

"It's okay," Shilo mumbled, blowing on her hands. "It was an accident."

"What's this about?" A third voice broke into the conversation. "Rachel, what have you—oh, look who it is!" The face had not been part of the blurred procession. "Shilo, isn't it? Are you hurt?"

"No. No, I'm alright," she said.

She held out her hand for him to shake. He turned it palm-side down and kissed her knuckles, earning an astonished blush. The touch of his beard on her hand tickled. In his light tenor, he said, "A pleasure to meet you. Shame I missed out earlier. Late arrival, you know."

"Oh. Oh, yeah, that's too bad," she stammered.

"This is my assistant, Rachel." And Rachel did hold a clipboard. "She's not usually on the clumsy side. Can I get you a drink?"

"No, I'm fine," she demurred, finding he was easy to talk to. "I don't think I got your name, back at the, um, briefing."

"I'm a Senator," he said. "One of the very few remaining."

Shilo knew nothing of politics. Her mind scrambled to remember what senators were. Something to do with meetings. Oh, Congress, of course. They were elected to go and vote on different bills, an important job. How was it that all these influential folk wanted to meet her, talk to her? It didn't make any sense.

"Nice to meet you."

"Pleasure's all mine."

The stirrings, the nervous little prickles in her spine and throat, confused her all the more and reminded her of how she felt with Graverobber, and _only_ with Graverobber. She frowned, not liking the sensation at all, not with this stranger.

"Excuse me. I have to find my date," she said, realizing a moment too late that she'd misspoken. She wanted Graverobber to stay out of trouble by not being attached to her in an inappropriate context. So much for that. The Senator looked disappointed and gracefully ended the conversation. Shilo found Graverobber out in the hallway, seeming not to have a care in the world.


	5. Exorcism

**Author's note: Sorry for the wait! Hopefully this makes up for it. Smut in this chapter. If you absolutely despise that sort of thing, feel free to skip the end of the chapter. Reviews are welcome. Thanks for reading, and enjoy your Zydrate responsibly!**

* * *

There was a place all set up for them, a penthouse suite according to a man who escorted them outside. The first thing Shilo did once they were in the limousine was to grab the bottle of expensive champagne and raise it to her mouth, trembling from hands to legs. The evening had gotten the best of her, and finally social anxiety had kicked in. Graverobber and Shilo said not a word to each other during the drive, each stewing in their own thoughts. In their elegance, they had lost the casual, comfortable air that was their couple's signature, Shilo's ability to see past Graverobber's façade to his actual insecurities, to see _him_. Now it was like they didn't even know each other, posture stiff, Shilo staring out the window for no reason other than to avoid his black-lined eyes.

A building that was impossibly high, topped with a spinning, shining orb, greeted them after ten or so minutes. Shilo lost count of the floor, only knew that there were windows like stars, balconies like clouds, and the elevator going up was clear and impressive. The car pulled up to a driveway that, once connected with the car, began to rise up three stories until it stopped. From there, they walked along a railed walkway—and here Shilo did hold Graverobber's hand, frightened that they could see the street rushing directly below their feet—to the elevator door. The bellhop who'd been stalking behind the couple now went ahead to open door and usher them in.

"Don't be frightened," he said, though anyone in their right mind would be. An elevator operator stood in a purple and gold uniform, hand on the lever. A bench was set up against the wall, and on the ceiling was a camera, a fly on the wall. Shilo flew to the bench and gripped it, closed her eyes and refused to open them. A hand was on her shoulder, not Graverobber's. The elevator operator was touching her in an attempt to provide comfort. He pretended not to notice or care, about the touch or about the ground falling further from them.

He pretended, too, not to be impressed by the interior when the doors opened. It was like a dream, this hobo's fantasy of better times. A creamy floor and red paneled walls, Victorian furniture; live, actual green –not synthetic!—plants on the tables and in the corners; a little chandelier, lit with false candles; a bowl of ripe, colorful, unfamiliar fruit on the low table; some screens leading to a kitchen, others to a dining table with two chairs, and two doors that surely went to a bedroom and bathroom; an arched double door out to the veranda. The bellhop left their bags and said he would bring the rest later, at their convenience. Shilo touched the plush pink fabric on the couch, taking it all in. He could tell just by looking at her that she did not understand the gravity of the situation. She would not see that it was trickery.

"Kid, tell me you're not buying it," he implored.

"Buying what?"

Impatient, he snarled, "This charade, of course, this fucking beauty contest starring you."

"What are you talking about? Everyone's been perfectly lovely."

"Yeah, perfect. No one's perfect, Shilo."

"You sure aren't," she said derisively, folding her arms in a pouting, teenage posture; he reminded himself that she was a seventeen year old girl and prone to the occasional tantrum. That did not mean she was off the hook. The girl had to think, and if she refused, he had to be her advocate. "Unless you mean a perfect asshole."

"I'm going to let that one slide," he said. "Come on. You're just a pawn to them at best, a pretty pet at worst: someone they can dress up and push around. Think this is a home they've granted you? It's a gilded cage for their clipped bird."

"Oh, very nice. I know you pride yourself on being a lone wolf—and thank you, by the way, for your disappearing act when I was scared out of my mind—but that doesn't make me a metaphorical animal, too. I'm not a peacock or any other kind of bird. Some people are nice. These people are," she said.

"It wasn't… I didn't… Damn it, Shilo, I'd have been with you if I could! They kept me away from you," he said, raising his voice. She copied his fine example.

"Graverobber," she said with a venomous bite, and he knew they were in trouble if they were reiterating their first names like this. Her hackles were up, so to speak. "Nothing could stop you if you really tried, I know that much. But you didn't. You left me alone with all those people."

"Don't you play innocent with me, little Miss Wallace," he retorted. "You didn't even look over your own shoulder, just kept a'walking without a care in the world. Let yourself be led off, and hell if I know how it went, because you _didn't tell me after_." He was walking closer to her and didn't know why, to stop her from talking, to stop the argument.

"What's the matter, Graverobber? Did I hurt your feelings?"

"Don't be a bitch," he growled, and immediately wanted to undo his words. She stared at him, shocked, and pushed him back, ran to what she assumed was the bedroom door and lucked out on the first try. Shilo attempted to slam it shut, but his arm was in the way, hand to the wall. "Open this door," he said.

"You are not my father," she said. "Quit acting like it."

"I'm _sorry_," he said, trying to read her expression through the fractured view. She was hurt, eyes red, and shaking out of anger. Graverobber felt tense, and furious, and repentant, and it all twisted together until he didn't know which way was up. "I'm sorry." Her body breathed. Her expression did not calm. "Let me in."

"Don't boss me around," she said, and let him in.

They stared at each other, past words, past anything but the rage fueling the inevitable: Shilo rushed forward and kissed him, thrusting her tongue into his mouth. He grunted and boosted her up, giving her leeway to lock her legs around him. Her hands cruelly tugged at his hair, and he shoved her into the wall, earning a pained moan. She cradled his jaw in her grip, forcing him to break the kiss.

"You bastard," she said, panting. "That hurt."

"Want me to stop?"

One word broke his resolve to take it slow, back off or go easy on the delicate bird. "No." No kid gloves, no nothin'.

The bed, the ridiculous bed with the tall, bronze frame and high thread count, was unmade when he swung her about, pressing her down amidst the piles of pillows. He followed her down, rough kisses merciless, hands roaming up and down her body. Shilo's arm swept the pillows beneath and around them onto the wood floor in one fluid motion, then reached up, ripping at his clothing.

"You'll damage it," he purred.

She threw his sarcasm right back in his face with a wry chuckle. "Get me out of his dress. Be gentle—oh!" Because he impatiently turned her on her stomach and, rather than carefully unzip and peel the expensive fabric from her, ripped the gown open, exposing her backside. He pulled it down, exposing the rest of her. She looked over her shoulder, fire in the coals that were her dark eyes. "Think you're a big, strong man?"

"Yes." He raised his hand and brought it down on her ass, and again, and again, sitting himself up and pulling her onto his lap. "And shut up." He caressed her spine, the curve of her ass, the tops of her thighs, slid off her underwear and then her bra. That would be the last of gentleness for the evening, that was clear.

Shilo, naked little Shilo, turned over and pulled herself up, grabbed at his groin, put pressure on the swelling anatomy. He thrust up into her hand slightly, closing his eyes. And then she squeezed, and he snapped, pushing her back and onto the rumpled, exquisite gold bedclothes where she laid, momentarily stunned. In that moment, he straddled her lap, his touch roaming up from hipbones to breasts, pinching her tightening nipples. He lowered his body and suckled there, using more teeth than was necessary, bit the top of her breast so there'd be an angry mark come the morning.

Breath shallow and harsh, she raised her legs and bucked her hips. Graverobber felt the heat. It excited him, and he briefly wondered if this was wrong, if he was taking advantage… and then she roughly brought their mouths for an even rougher kiss, sucking and biting his lower lip. He slid his hand down and, without warning, pushed two fingers inside her. Shilo cried out, no acting there. She was wet but not relaxed, and right then he did not give a good goddamn if it hurt her. He needed this. He needed relief, needed to get rid of the monstrous feeling inside of him of savagery mingled with and directed at his love. Savagery was a terrible distraction that had to be exorcised. Sex was as good a method as any. He bit down on her neck, wanting her to be covered in bruises. She seemed keen on his pain, as well, yanking at his hair, forcing him to bite his lip and bury his face between her shoulder and her throat to keep her from noticing the pain she was inflicting on him. Fingers twisted in her, and _she_ was the one who made a pained noise.

Shilo attempted and did not succeed in pulling the tie tight. That just would not do. He gave her no more opportunities, stripping hurriedly and throwing his clothes aside. He didn't want to use a condom. He wanted to feel her, be as close to her as possible. Practicality and a fear of pregnancy quelled that passionate reaction, but he fumbled with the packaging. There was something like reluctance in the way she held her mouth. He struggled to ignore it and found he couldn't.

"Can I?"

There seemed to be a struggle: yes or no, a small battle, hands curling in the sheets. "Fine." That wasn't exactly the response he was hoping for, yet an acquiescence nonetheless. Graverobber took it.

He moved down her body, wiping his fingers on her stomach, and spread her legs. When he pushed inside of her, he went right to a hellish paradise, a fire in him. Sure it wouldn't last long by the tightness unfurling inside of him, he pumped his hardness, reveling in the moans that fell from Shilo's throat, and in the sweat that studded her body, the natural blush that was on her cheeks and chest. Her long-fingered, black-nailed hands stroked her breasts, circling the points on each breast.

It was an unbelievable turn-on. He went further in, harder, harder, tearing the sounds out of her, the bed sighing, and he worked through the energy that had built up inside until his full weight collapsed on her.

They were panting. She'd not orgasmed and still her breaths were beating heavy from her lungs, chest rising and falling under his body.

"How's that?" he wheezed on an exhale.

She pushed him off and stumbled to her feet, a gleaming little stripe on her belly and on her thighs. Hate was written on her bruised pink mouth. It seemed that their tumble had not been good for her. He was confused, not understanding where it had gone wrong. It was just what he'd needed.

"Fuck you," she spat, and slept on the couch that night.


	6. Green

**Author's note: Oh my goodness, it's been a while! This story has not been abandoned and will not be. Real life just swooped in and interrupted for a spell. Read and review, and thanks for sticking around!**

* * *

In the television shows Shilo grew up watching, the men and women drawn together by love's sweetest bonds bickered from the beginning up until they tied their fates up with a kiss or a declaration of love or both. The arguing all stopped after that, and there certainly wasn't shouting or glaring. There was no furious fucking that felt good for the duration before the realization that the climax wouldn't solve anything, not in the perfectly written stories. Love meant happiness and love was easy. That was it.

It was a lonely, uncovered night on the couch. She did not toss and turn, only whimpered to herself in the absolute dark and wondered why she had to have a life that was, by comparison, so tragically written. In the hollow night, she shuffled out on the balcony and looked up at the starving moon and felt her own hunger. Things within herself weren't right, and as for the man she'd brought with her, she wondered if she'd forever have to feel responsible for his emotional health. He probably felt the same for her. Sleep finally beckoned her inside. She took the lure, laid down, and closed her eyes.

Life together was meant to be easy, wasn't it? But she could not keep herself from going rigid at breakfast, going so far as to get up and move a seat further down when the rainbow-haired rogue rose and went to join her for breakfast. She spread jelly on a roll and stiffened when Graverobber spoke her name.

"Easy, kid." He had her hand. Surprised, she dropped the knife and pastry with a ringing clatter and watched him massage her knuckles. The gentle motion left her wanting. "What happened last night?"

She shuddered and was loathe to talk about it. The whole incident had left her ashamed for giving in and fucking him when they should have gone to sleep or talked like reasonable people. Shilo didn't know how to fix it, and now they were both stuck. "Forget it. This is another day." She wrenched from his grasp.

No one bothered them immediately and it was Graverobber's suggestion that they go for a stroll; were it up to Shilo, they'd have stayed in watching TV, but she wanted to become familiar with the surroundings as much as he did. It was a beautiful day outside, bright and clear. Once he stopped and stabbed a finger at each one, she did see that there were cameras everywhere.

"Is that so different from back home?" she asked.

Sheepishly, he admitted that it probably wasn't, but that it was proof that this new world wasn't perfect in the slightest. The wickedness and corruption may have been hidden under a slick veneer, but it was there. She shrugged. A woman in a shop ran out and asked Shilo to come in and say hi to her husband. Shilo was nice enough to comply. Even that dug into her companion's craw, and he explained why; everyone spoke as if they knew her personally and intimately, like it was not out of the question for anyone off the street to drop what they were doing like a hot potato.

Graverobber here was the hot potato in question and they both knew it. She gave a weak apology for the interruption and took his arm, leaning into his side for the rest of the stroll.

"It's strange here," she said.

The occasional squares of decorative grass were perfectly green, and all colors were vibrant and pure. Great gold zeppelins puttered about in the cumulus-sighing sky. The people were bright and surgically turned into models of gut-wrenching beauty. And the buildings, how they sparkled. To herself, Shilo ardently wished that they would not fight again. Thankfully, there was a distraction from themselves: on their return 'home,' they found an invitation on the table for a congressional ball. "Oh," Shilo sighed in relief. "Look, Graves, look. It's another party."

"Yeah?" Reading over her shoulder, he straightened up and leaned an elbow on her shoulder. "Could be there's something pretty there for me to steal."

She brushed off his arm, whirled, and wrapped around his waist, looking up with a playful grin. "As long as it's not another girl."

"Never!"

And they were fine for a spell.

* * *

It was a little white lie, phoning and saying that she'd spilled wine on the red dress. In return, they let her wear her own clothes to the event—both of them could, and they talked beforehand on not leaving each other's side, not without saying so. Together, they looked up the route and took the moving chains of sidewalk to the building where the event was being thrown. Shilo, arms nervously locked, liked the feel of her own net gloves on her arms, and liked it better with Graverobber's coat touching the places left exposed by her dark dress. This was an event celebrating some environmental policy just passed by Congress. It wasn't terribly crowded inside, room enough to breathe and reassurance that Graverobber wouldn't get misplaced. The entire hall was festooned in green, and the music was bubbly, inviting feet to dance. At the front of the room was a stage with a podium; at the back was the entrance, the attendants, the place to discard the worries of the outside world.

A man took Graverobber's coat and, judging by the contortion of his features, immediately regretted doing so. Shilo was used to the mud (how he managed to find dirt here, she couldn't say.

"Here is your drink, sir," she said, lifting one off a tray for him as a penguin-suited server passed by. The delicate glass was ridiculous in his indelicate hand.

"Why, thank you, madam."

Shilo felt herself being drawn forward; whoever the speaker or speakers were, it was intended for the seventeen year old to listen. Shilo didn't mind being right near the stage. It didn't detract from her fun, which lay in Graverobber. They were having a grand time snickering to each other about the overuse of emerald, Shilo exclaiming over the dull music and bland food, when the speakers spoke up cheerfully, asking if they wouldn't please put their hands together for the man responsible for the new bill, the freshest face to Congress and a revolutionary thinker.

Amidst smatterings of applause a lean man bounded up to the stage, lifted himself up rather than go to the stairs, and approached the microphone. He tapped it twice. His face filled the wall behind him. Shilo choked.

It was the Senator. Less stuffy than the rest of the bunch in his casually rumpled suit and olive combat boots. His blue and white hair was neatly styled, the short facial hair immaculately trimmed. His fingers wrapped the base of the microphone as he leaned in like a singer about to croon. When he talked, about loving the sky and stars and sea, Shilo believed him. No one back home seemed to give a damn about the state of the world. There was only filth and everyone was okay with that. For Shilo, who knew the stars as well as her insects, she wanted clarity for the world, not more decay.

Then he noticed her. His hazel eyes roved over the crowd and then—snap—found Shilo's wide-open and attentive.

"Now, my friends, if you don't mind, there's someone I want to salute." He extended a hand in her direction.

Mortified, Shilo felt all focus on her. Graverobber froze right along with her. Everyone simply stared. And then the clapping started! The noise filled the entire room, stuffing up her ears with the roar. It's the acoustics of the room, she told herself; surely there couldn't have been so much enthusiasm. At some point, he replaced the mike and hopped down. Shilo numbly stood there, watching him come up to greet her personally once again.

"Thanks for coming to my little party," he said.

"Oh, this is your party?" she said.

"It's my proposal. I wanted to make sure the VIP could attend."

"VIP?" she echoed, unable to do anything, it seemed, but repeat short sentences. Something about him greatly confused her.

"That'd be you, of course. Delighted. What do you think? Not about the party, it's a tad garish…" Odd words coming from one so flamboyant, she would've said, but he made it casual. This event took its frippery in earnest. "… About protecting the environment. That's my platform. Pro-surgery, anti-toxin."

She pushed past her revulsion at the pronouncement that he was in favor of surgical enhancements—it was, after all, the norm—to fix on his gentle and earnest smile. "Oh, I'm all in favor of that," she said.

"Listen," he said, and, leaning forward, took her elbow, steering her off to the side. "I wanted to be sure to talk to you. Yes, you," he laughed in response to her baffled state. "You think I haven't noticed that this world's been plastered with your image? Why, there's not a person in these states who does not know of the stir you've caused in your quaint little hometown!"

Shilo smirked at him. The island, as they both – all, she corrected herself; Graverobber was standing there, too—knew, was anything but quaint. That brought to mind cottages and kindness, not a city built on top of the dead. "Is that so?"

"Obviously," Graverobber interjected. "What's your point?"

For a single moment, the Senator looked annoyed. Then it passed and all was well. "My point is that Miss Wallace could do something with her celebrity. Pardon me; I ought to address you directly. Shilo, you've been through hell. We all know that. We were secondhand witnesses to the slaughter."

Shilo felt herself slipping back into the memories, no longer so fresh but they still stung at the mention of the night when she'd bathed in blood. With huge effort, she managed not to tremble and tear. "Yes?" she said instead.

"Well, why not put your experience to good use?" he said, and eagerly went on, "There should be press conferences! A testimony before Congress; vie for an official title. Don't be their flash in the pan media attraction. You're worth so much more."

"I thought you were pro-surgery," she hesitated, but a part of her, the ambitious, that wanted to help heal the world's sickness, believed him, and that part was growing moment by moment by moment, encouraged by his smile and the light in his eyes.

"When it's necessary, of course! Elective…" Uneasily, he glanced around. "It makes me unpopular. You see, I've never had one. Don't you see, Shilo?"

"See what?"

"You could affect real change here. Change people's attitudes if you use the power you have _now_," he insisted. "I could help you."

At the end of their conversation, she gave him the number to reach her at. He left the couple with a wave to mingle elsewhere. Shilo met Graverobber's dumbfounded expression and said, a little irritated, "What?"


	7. Pigs in Hot Water

It was a tranquil night in the hotel kitchens, what with most guests out enjoying the night air. Oh, to be sure, some had fallen in to the dining area downstairs with their loved ones, keeping the staff busy enough that they could not be considered idle… but not to the point of being in a fury over pots and pans. And there was discussion over dirty dishes of the peoples in the establishment hunkering down for the night, rooms complimentary of the event's host; what so-and-so wore, who was on whose arm. It was known that Shilo Wallace of the sequestered island had made an appearance in black, and that the up and coming Senator managing the event had held her attention and made her eyes sparkle.

An order of fresh towels was carted up to the sixth floor. The shirtless boy delivering said towels rode up the elevator, hoping for a tip large enough to buy a decent drink after work, maybe even one for an already drunk girl. On approaching the guest's door, however, he heard a terrific crash and a shout.

"God damn it, I'm not a child!"

Domestic troubles? He waited for a response and, hearing none, knocked twice. The wind was knocked out of him when none other than Shilo Wallace opened the door, sneering. Her breath snarled. Behind her, a man sat on the bed, much older, taller, and more colorful. The boy couldn't help but snoop with his genetically modified eyes: they took in, captured, and recorded. Shilo was prettier in person than on TV, even with red eyes. She composed herself, if a bit shakily, and attempted a smile.

He offered the towels.

"On the bed," she said. "Thank you."

He pushed the cart over and placed the towels next to the sitting man glowering at him.

"What're you looking at?" he growled.

"Leave him alone. You're being obnoxious," Shilo said curtly. She started to grow angry again when the boy did not leave until the man explained with a chuckle that he was waiting for his tip for the room service. "Tip?"

"Money," he continued without the condescension that could've easily snuck in at her ignorance. "Here, I'll take care of it." He peeled off a bill from inside his pocket and handed it to the lad. "Now, scram. Miss Wallace and I have some… unfinished business." He grinned, canines flashing.

Shilo looked down, her face turning pink. She did nothing to acknowledge either presence in the room and, feeling almost guilty, the boy left them in that heavy silence, closing the door gingerly. Not a moment later did he hear an impact against the wood and several soft, feminine sighs.

* * *

Downstairs, the staff chewed over the gossip, as well as the footage he'd inadvertently recorded that had since been wrested from his eyes with promises of extra pay.

"A lover, huh? That little tramp."

"Seemed they'd been fighting to me," protested the boy. "Could be he was a business partner, or an assistant. 'Sides, what kind of tramp doesn't ken the services I supply at a glance?"

"That's true enough," agreed a maid in her tarted up black-and-white uniform. "If anyone's the tramp, it's you."

Under the table, the cooks betted that the boy and the maid would go to bed together if properly plied with alcohol and noise. Several credits changed meaty, hopeful hands and, after enough gossip and music and laughter, the pair ended up fucking quickly against her apartment wall after he walked her home. His vision still hooked up to a display, the crew roared over their shared sweating and grunting. Like pigs, they agreed.

* * *

"I'm a pig," Graverobber agreed as he leaned over the young girl. He had her against the door, in such a position that he could look down her dress and see that she was not, in point of fact, wearing a bra—not that she needed one.

Shilo exhaled, trying to recover from the kisses to her neck, he noted smugly. "Cut it out. I'm not tumbling into bed at the snap of your fingers or the merest flick of your tongue."

"Oh, but you must admit it is a very skilled tongue," he purred, lacing his fingers around her slender waist.

"Resorting to bragging, are we? Come on, Graves, you're better than that." She folded her arms and pouted so seriously, taking on the air of a woman much older and bitterer than her seventeen short years. "Besides, we both know it's more of a silver tongue."

"Kid, I wasn't intending to seduce you."

Not tonight, when the results would surely be a repeat of her anger from previous nights. Yes, it had become almost a routine: an argument would erupt, Shilo would disrupt the proceedings with vigorous and violent fucking, and then she would abandon their bed to sleep on the couch. He didn't pretend to understand it. Understand her. Evidently there was more to learn about his lover, the girl he'd essentially pledged his life and loyalty to.

And he wasn't sure where to begin. Conflict resolution had never been his strong suit. No, he was better at running away. Now, of course, in this strange land, he had nowhere to run to. No secret lair, no alternate allies. Shilo was all he had.

"Then why did you—that is, what did you mean by 'unfinished business?'" she asked, removing his hands from around her figure and pacing away from him, examining herself in the long mirror across from the bed, arranging her lovely long wig.

"I wanted to get rid of the boy so we could talk. Adult to adult."

"But I'm not an adult, as you well know."

He shrugged and shoved his mitts in his pockets, rocking absentmindedly on his heels. "Close enough."

She asked pointblank what it was that he wanted to talk to her about.

He answered, "Why, your new friend, of course. Never trust a politician, kid. Don't you remember that's exactly what Rotti was?"

Shilo shook her head and insisted that the Senator was different, she could feel it. He wanted to help her, with no ulterior motives.

"He's nice to me."

"Of course he's nice to you. Now, I don't care if it's your pussy or your signature, but he wants _something_ from you." Watching her sit down on the bed cross-legged, he shook back his mane and concluded, "I don't trust him. I really don't. You deserve to be warned."

"Oh, keep your warnings. Don't need them," she said dismissively, running her fingers through her wig, carefully keeping a blank face.

The problem was that she did and didn't recognize it, but he really didn't want to push the issue and risk a worse confrontation. Instead, he sighed, sat next to her, laid an arm across her shoulders.

She gave him a scathing look, which he felt was undeserved, and shrugged out of the half-embrace to stand and dramatically walk away from him.

"You're just like _him_, always presuming to know what's best for me," she said.

"No, Shilo, I'm nothing like your father, because I actually have your best interests at heart. I actually love you," he replied without thinking, and it was out. He loved her. Her eyes widened slightly, and for a moment he thought the evening would end in some way other than a fight. He hoped.

He was a fool. "Is that so?" she said, and bitterly reminded him, "We've done nothing but fight and be distant since leaving home. Sometimes I wonder if I…"

"What, kid? Go ahead, tell me if you think you made a mistake bringing me here. God knows, lying alone at night, I've wondered why you brought me here if just to use and shun me. I've got feelings too. Go ahead and tell me." He sucked on his teeth and found that he was biting down painfully hard on his molars.

A cruel chuckle came from her sweet mouth. "I wonder if I did the right thing, that's all. Guess that makes me a little bitch."

He shook his head. "Well, I'll be. I don't even know who you are."

They stood in murky and uncertain silence. The phone rang.


	8. Heartbeat

Hard as she tried, she could not reconcile the Graverobber of her thoughts with the one she had previously encountered. That same man who spoke of love and poetry and shelter could hurt with his sharp, quick words. And she…she could hurt with her little words, too. That power was in her vocal chords. She even wanted to. He pushed, she pushed back. It was wrong, that was clear, but in the heated moment she couldn't stop herself, and afterwards she relished the hurt in his eyes; reflected, she imagined, in her own. And she couldn't help it. She did love him, didn't she? But perhaps it wasn't as much as she should.

He was her shoulder, her anchor, her—

"I'm really glad you agreed to come out with me," _he_ interrupted, with an eager smile that made her blush. Somehow, the Senator was so much more boyish than Graverobber, even with the beard and aggressively masculine wardrobe. His every movement oozed infectious enthusiasm and, bless him, glee.

"It was nice of you to ask," she replied, hiding her shaking hands on her lap, beneath the emerald tablecloth. She hadn't bothered to dress up and now, given the formal atmosphere and the dozen or so cameras following them, she wished she had put in a little more effort. As it was, she wore her wig, omitted Graverobber's necklace for a simple, borrowed pendant, and a brief white dress that practically begged for stains.

Thinking of the possible stains she could accrue other than red from the marinara-dressed pasta she'd ordered five minutes ago, she blushed. That was _not_ an appropriate line of thought, especially not with him around. Shilo's thoughts were going to behave, and that was that. After all, this was not a date.

"Well, I hated the thought of you being cooped up on a fine evening like this," he said.

She added nervously, "But, remember, it's not a date."

"No, no, no, of course not. Wouldn't dream of calling it such," he said.

Their food was served by the most poised of wait staff, but given the circumstances they'd have been excused a show of nerves: a celebrity and an up-and-coming politician together at one table, tailed by so-called journalists. More like paparazzi, looking for something to sensationalize, dramatize, fantasize.

Shilo turned over her glass to accept the offering of rich, red wine. No one questioned her age. She took a small amount of pride in her own importance and thanked the waiter in black. A smile that didn't show teeth was given in exchange before he left.

He demonstrated how to swirl the contents under one's nose before sipping, not guzzling. His corrections didn't embarrass her. It wasn't her fault that no one had instructed her on how to behave in society.

The food wasn't to her liking, but she forced it down. She was used to pre-packaged food. She was used to her own terrible cooking. There were mushrooms in the sauce that she carefully banished to the side of her plate.

"Mind if I take those?" he asked, indicating her mushrooms with his fork.

She pushed her plate toward him. "Be my guest."

"Oh, no, Shilo Wallace; tonight you're my guest."

Manners be damned, she took a gulp of wine to blame the blush in her cheeks on the alcohol. From reading her father's textbooks, she knew that consumption of alcohol caused blood vessels to dilate, producing redness. There was something about his voice wrapped around something simple and ordinary, like her dull name, which was simply delicious.

Trouble, her mind warned her, as it had with… others. She brushed it aside and smiled after a mouthful of perfectly al dente pasta.

* * *

In spite of her best efforts to split the check, he insisted on covering the full sum.

"But I have money," she said.

"Save it. Spend it on tattoos, a college education, interesting underwear; not on silly me."

It was impossible to convince him otherwise, so she let it go with an embarrassed laugh. She would consult Graverobber when she got home on how she could have better handled the situation. He would surely know. The man knew almost everything there was to know, from women to Z to politicians.

But it seemed the evening wasn't over.

It had begun to rain while they were inside the restaurant. Approaching the door with her in front of him, the Senator spun her about to face him. Her heart hammered uncomfortably in her ribcage. She could not slow it down by any amount of rational thinking. His smile was honest and white.

"What say we take a walk, just the two of us?" he asked her over the clicks and shutters of the reporters' equipment.

Trying valiantly to ignore the background noise, she nearly shook her head, instead protesting that it was pouring. Besides, they wouldn't be alone, not by a longshot.

"Oh, where's your sense of adventure? Besides, don't all kids like to play in puddles?" he teased.

"I am _not_ a kid," she said flatly. "And I prefer to stay dry."

He turned to the reporters. "Say, folks, could Shilo borrow a coat?"

To her great surprise, someone complied. He shook the person's hand – with a bill passing between them on the sly, she suspected. Nonetheless, she wouldn't begrudge herself the chance at a bit of extra warmth. She took the coat, said thank you like the good girl she wanted to be, and wore it, snuggling deep into the warm fabric. The Senator said it suited her well. It was just on the edge of inappropriate, and she knew it.

Part of her hoped he would push past that edge, blur the boundary further, increase the horrible tension. That he would stop being a perfect gentleman.

He stepped outside, into the freezing, pouring rain, and opened an umbrella. Graverobber would have made a crack about always having protection somewhere on his person. Instead, the Senator kindly and simply asked if she would please join him for a stroll. And, well, Shilo was helpless, as always. She bundled up and followed him under the expansive umbrella. In spite of the protection overhead, the wind beat the rain into their faces and onto their bodies. Shilo laughed and held up her hands, but it was no use.

"Nothing wrong with getting a little wet," he said, to which she laughed. He turned to her with puzzlement in his eyes.

"Nothing, nothing. So if this isn't a date, why did you drag me out here?" she wondered, keeping a safely appropriate distance.

"Why, to enjoy the pleasure of your company."

"That _is_ a date," she told him.

"Oh dear. What ever will we do about that?" he asked in mock horror.

There was a momentary silence between them. Bulbs flashing lit their way in the watery dark. Her boots clicked in the shallow puddles, disturbing the surface, kicking up droplets. He did not step down too solidly. He was like a dancer, something to be admired. Then, she dared to stir the dripping quiet with her voice.

"We could talk about business," she suggested quietly.

"That we could. But my Rachel isn't here to take notes."

"Your assistant?" she questioned, curious.

"Yes, yes, my assistant. You met her. Reddish brown hair, too tall for her own good, an old-fashioned clipboard?"

"I remember. She knocked me over on accident," Shilo said.

"And she felt terrible for that. As did I. You should know, Shilo, that Rachel is under a form of indentured servitude. Oh, it's not uncommon or cruel. For a period of seven years, she works for me, and in exchange I cosign her surgeries and ensure that she has a roof over her head. She has two small children and needed to provide for them without stooping to prostitution. Can you understand?"

Shilo furrowed her brow and went deep in thought. Servitude was a step above slavery, from what she remembered from her books. And yet, the Senator was a kind, gentle man, and Rachel had not seemed powerless when Shilo met her. If that was the strange but not inhumane way this side of the world worked, she couldn't complain, not unless she wanted to estrange her one and only major ally.

"Yes, I understand," she said.

"Good, good!" he exclaimed, clearly relieved. "Listen, I wanted to talk to you about something." He put a hand up to the reporters. "Gentlemen, ladies, I think you've gotten enough fuel for tonight's story." And, just like that, they ceased to follow the pair as they proceeded through the rain. The Senator said nothing.

"What did you want to talk to me about?"

"What? Oh, yes. You see… Shilo? Shilo, what's wrong?"

Don't be silly, she meant to say, I'm fine.

But she had trouble getting the words out and found herself gasping for the breath that wouldn't come no matter how hard she tried. Dizziness encircled her vision, and there was a sharp pain deep in her chest like when she was nervous, but more intense, and the feeling would not go away. Her knees buckled; he caught her in his arms as she folded under the extreme pressure. Fog took her. The umbrella hit the ground, though the rain did nothing to dispel the sensations of pain and choking, horrible choking.

"Shilo, don't worry. I'm going to take care of you," he said, brushing what passed for hair out of her eyes. She blinked out a tear.

"Am I going to die?" she managed to choke out before the great, dark, awful pressure took her vision, took her consciousness.

Drifting in and out, she felt herself lifted onto a stretcher and strapped in. Drifting in and out, she heard the siren wailing, and felt a hand in hers, squeezing reassuringly. Graverobber, she supposed, though the thought did nothing to bring her comfort. What did bring her comfort was the oblivion of sleep.

And words drifted in, too, from a distance. "It's her heart," said a faraway voice. "I don't care who she is, we have to operate soon. It's too great a strain."


End file.
